


Respite: Detour

by kaydeefalls



Series: Respite [7]
Category: Firefly, The X-Files
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-27
Updated: 2008-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 14:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaydeefalls/pseuds/kaydeefalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Area 51?" Scully sighs. "Again? I'm beginning to think our adversaries lack imagination."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite: Detour

"Area 51?" Scully sighs. "Again? I'm beginning to think our adversaries lack imagination."

Mulder's lips twitch, the hint of a smile. "Not technically Area 51, actually, but close enough. And it's a comforting tradition, isn't it? It's...classic."

"Borderline retro, even. Mulder, are we really reverting back to chasing bright lights in the sky? I thought we'd progressed beyond that in the past ten years."

"Classic X-file," Mulder persists. "The good old days, when we thought there was only one alien race and our biggest concern was that the government was hiding really nifty gadgets from the general populace."

"What's this we, buster? I was an unwilling participant."

"You were willing enough. C'mon, Scully, it'll be fun. Besides, I like Nevada."

She lets him drive, rolling down the window and letting the cool dust-dry twilit desert air caress her face.

It must be after midnight when she opens her eyes, startled out of sleep by a sudden stillness. Mulder's stopped the car, she realizes. He's outside, leaning against the hood, staring up at the sky.

Stiffly, she unbuckles her seatbelt and goes out to join him, stretching the kinks out of her back. All the hours she's spent in a car with him, she ought to be one with the machine by now. The night -- or is it very early morning? -- air is surprisingly chilly, and she hugs herself, rubbing her bare arms. She always somehow forgets how cold the desert can be at night. She walks around the front of the car to lean against Mulder, letting the warmth of his body beside her seep into her own skin. She tilts her head up, following his gaze.

The stars wink down at her, countless billions, studded against the endless expanse of dark velvet sky like so many tiny jewels.

"Over there," Mulder murmurs. "Two o'clock. Just behind the rock formation that looks like Mickey Mouse."

Casually, without moving her head, she scopes it out. There's a dark figure there, crouched behind the rock. Starlight gleams off metal -- _gun_.

"Got him," Scully breathes. "Game time."

In an instant, they've both reached back for their own weapons -- Scully's at the small of her back, Mulder's in an ankle holster. "We're not looking for trouble!" Mulder shouts across the sand as they stride forward, both keeping their guns trained on the stranger. "Just have a couple of questions, that's all!"

There's a muffled curse. "Sure you do. Feds! Why can't anybody in this gorram 'verse just _leave us alone_?"

"We're not feds," Mulder says. "Not anymore, at least."

"And why should I trust you?"

Mulder shrugs, giving him a lopsided grin. "Probably shouldn't. I don't know. We have no interest in shooting you, though. You have any particular interest in shooting us?"

Scully favors her partner with a quick glare. This is so not Bureau protocol. But what in their lives these days _is_, anyway?

There's a beat of silence. Then the stranger lowers his gun. "Not really," he says, and stands. He's a tall, lean man, all rough edges and angry eyes. A man who's seen a lot of life, and not enough of it good. "Well, if you _are_ plannin' on shooting me, I'd consider it a kindness if you went and got it over with," he says tiredly.

Mulder and Scully exchange looks, then simultaneously lower their weapons. He hardly looks like someone involved in a governmental conspiracy; there's something in the weary lines of his face, visible even by starlight, that suggests he's walked as long and painful a road as she and Mulder have themselves. "My name is Scully," she says. "This is Mulder."

"Malcolm Reynolds," the man says sourly. "Pleasure to meet you both. Now, if you're not here to shoot me, I'd like to go back to enjoying my solitude."

"What brings you out here tonight, Mr. Reynolds?" Mulder cuts in, with a disarming smile.

"Just enjoying the lovely evening, like you folks, I'm sure," Reynolds says. He tilts his head upward, and the lines of his face smooth out a bit in the starlight. His voice softens. "Don't hardly get tired of looking at 'em, myself."

"No," Mulder murmurs. "Neither do I." His eyes narrow as he watches Reynolds.

Scully bites her lip. She knows there's no way in hell Mulder will just drive off without getting his answers, but there's no reason to antagonize this man. Maybe if she can just ease into it. "Have you by any chance noticed any...unusual activity in this area?" she asks, as delicately as she knows how. "Strange lights in the sky, for example? In all your stargazing, you may well have glimpsed something..." She trails off, noticing the sudden wry twist to his lips. There's a distinct amusement in his eyes.

"Oh, that," he says. "I wouldn't worry myself about that, Ms. Scully. She'll be back on her way soon enough."

"She?" Mulder demands, eyes alight with sudden excitement. "A ship, you mean? You've seen it?"

"You could say that," Reynolds drawls. "I'm just resting here for a spell. Bit of a vacation from the rest of the 'verse. You should try it sometime," he adds, his gaze on them sharpening. "Resting, I mean. I hear it does wonders. Can't carry it all on your shoulders for too long. It tends to wear a body out."

He's all alone out here, Scully realizes suddenly. No car, no bike, no horse even. Where did he _come_ from, with hundreds of miles of desert in every direction? Desert, and scrubby brush, and strange rock formations that were part mountain and part boulder, plenty bulky enough to hide a dwelling of some sort.

Or a ship.

"It does at that," Mulder is saying. "But the UFO--?"

"Ain't nothing unidentifiable about her," Reynolds says, with a hint of indignation in his tone. "Well, except for a part of the thermal compressor that Kaylee rigged up to the engine off Persephone a while back. Can't begin to identify what it is or was ever originally intended to be."

Mulder looks like he's just been told that Santa, the Easter Bunny, _and_ the Tooth Fairy all really do exist, and better yet, they _fly in spaceships_. "You mean...?"

"I mean I wouldn't worry myself about it," Reynolds repeats firmly. "We'll be off again soon enough." He turns deliberately, heading back toward the boulder/mountain/Martian-rock-formation thing.

"We could follow you, you know," Mulder calls after him.

Reynolds turns back with a smile. "You could," he agrees. "But it'd be a waste of your time, and mine." He pauses, considering. "Although if you happen to frequent any bars in the general area, and you happen to notice a big, ugly fella with a lot of big, ugly knives beating up on anyone, could you kindly point him back in this direction? I really don't trust Jayne to find his way back here, and I'd rather not have to go hunting for him my own self." With a polite nod, Reynolds walks away, a shadow against shadows in the thin, cold starlight.

Mulder watches him go, a keen yearning in his eyes. Scully understands. To be able to _rest_, she thinks longingly. To be able to just fly away and never look back, follow Reynolds in his ship back out into the black, surround themselves with stars.

But this is their home, and they still have so much work to do.

"Come on, Mulder," she says softly, touching his arm. "I could use a drink."


End file.
